


like a fucking supernova

by FlashMountain



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Is Just Mentioned, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Steve is Thirsty, and... thought of, gay pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashMountain/pseuds/FlashMountain
Summary: Steve jerks off to the way Billy smells, that’s pretty much it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	like a fucking supernova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greyspilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyspilot/gifts).



> Prompt written for my @greyspilot. Bailey you’ve dealt with me and my months long writers block, now you have to deal with all my pwp nonsense.

The shirt’s been hanging in his closet for two days. Okay, maybe not hanging. More like shoved into it, thrown over Steve’s pile of shit he needed to get off his floor. But it’s been there for two days. Billy’s shirt in Steve’s closet, like it’s no big deal. And it _isn’t_. They’re friends, and Billy just left his shirt at Steve’s place all casual, probably forgot it. Steve can’t stop thinking about it.

He could’ve given it back yesterday. When they were both sweaty and gross from playing basketball in Steve’s backyard all day. ‘Cause it’s their thing, or something. Shared interest. Shoving each other around until they’re panting, dribbling and breaking rules just to get closer. It’s a game in every way basketball isn't.

Billy had been. _So_ close. Pressed up against Steve like all he’s ever wanted is to get his hands on the basketball Steve’s had laying around since middle school. And Steve knows it’s the game, knows Billy’s obsessed with winning even when there’s nothing to win, but it still. Goes to his head.

To his dick. And he knows it’s. Not normal, or whatever. Also knows it’s always been there. Chalked it up to being fucking horny all the time, fifteen year old curiosity and a skinmag stolen as a dare. It’s more than that, with Billy. Makes him feel like he’s back on his _king shit_ at the same time as he feels like. No one, besides Billy Hargrove and this _energy_ , radiating out of him. It’s like he’s standing right next to the sun, and he’s no one. It’s not bad, doesn’t make him feel like. Bullshit. Or like he’s lost something. He’s just free. Can let himself get lost in Billy Hargrove and it’s fine ‘cause he’s _no one_ and he can do. Whatever he wants.

He’s also just. Horny. Keeps thinking about that fucking shirt. It’s a tee, the one Billy was wearing two days ago, while working on Steve’s Beamer ‘cause it’s acting up and Billy likes working with that shit. Offered to help him out, ‘cause he’s. A surprisingly good friend. Eager to please, while still managing to be a total asshole in a way that gets Steve hot all over.

He pulls himself out of bed, rolls over and stalks over to his closet. Stares down that shirt. Needs to-

Grabs it, soft cotton nice against his sweaty palm. Lifts it to his face before he can think too deep about what he _needs_ and inhales, two day old t-shirt and. _Billy_. It hits Steve right in the gut, makes him inhale like he’s never had real air in his lungs. Like Billy’s smell is what keeps him going and- he’s not thinking about that.

Thinks about the way the shirt smells like Billy’s sweat and car grease and nicotine and it’s _gross_ , boy smell at its finest and it makes Steve’s dick hard and it makes his heart race like he’s losing his mind.

He gets back to his bed, clutching grey cotton with one hand, the other unbuttoning his jeans without thinking about it. Thinks about the way the shirt was stretched across Billy’s shoulders two days ago, sweat soaking through in a way that should be gross but it’s _everything_.

He shucks his jeans, leaves them on the floor, leans against his headboard, staring down at the shirt. Feels like he has a fever, skin prickling and itching for-

He doesn’t think too hard, know what comes from thinking and over thinking and wishing he’d never think again. Lifts the shirt to his face again, closes his eyes into it.

Runs a hand down his chest, scratches at the hair there that Billy just couldn’t _not_ mention, that one time. Commented on it like he couldn’t help himself, made it so fucking easy for Steve to think that he wants this like Steve does, like Billy is feverish with want like this too.

He rubs himself through his boxers, gets so caught up in the fucking smell of Billy that he reaches for himself with a too dry grip, jerks his dick for a hot second without caring.

He scrambles for the lotion he doesn’t even put away at this point, feels off kilter, ‘cause he just. Doesn’t let go of the shirt.

He slicks up his dick, throws his head back at the way the sound of it makes him think of Billy Hargrove’s mouth on him- like he’d know what that’d feel like. Moans like he does though, like he can _feel_ Billy’s mouth around him if he just thinks hard enough- if he inhales enough of Billy’s _fucking_ smell.

He gets lost in it, rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. Pretends he can smell Billy on it, is delusional enough to act like there’s traces of them together all over his room. He’s rutting down into his bedsheets, makes a mess outta them, shirt soft under him, too.

He gets on his back, grasps for the fucking shirt again ‘cause it’s like a magnet and Steve’s going _insane_ and- he can’t think too much about what he’s actually doing, knows he’s high on adrenaline and Billy being pressed so fucking close to him all of yesterday, and he’s gonna come like this.

He’s a fucking mess, fisting the shirt with one hand, working himself like he’s dying for it with the other. He comes all over himself, gets the damn shirt all messed up.

He keeps his hand on his dick for too long, lets himself feel the pleasure-pain of being oversensitive, hisses through his teeth.

He’s gasping for air like he’s been running a marathon, chest heaving, lungs burning like anything but Billy’s cologne isn’t enough.

He pads to his bathroom, shirt in hand, throws it in the general direction of his hamper. Half of him wants to keep it like that, fucked up, but that’s _insane_ and weird and he really should think it’s grosser than he thinks it is.

He washes his hands, stares at himself in the mirror above the sink until he can’t really recognize himself. His cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. It’s written all over him, and Steve’s not really in the mood to fucking read.

He gets back to his room to the phone ringing, shrill sounds making him groan.

“Yeah, Harrington residence.”

“You always answer the phone like you’ve got a stick up your ass?”

Fuck. Billy’s voice makes him go all. Tight. Makes him feel like what he just did was broadcasted all across Hawkins, or something.

“Billy, hey.” _I just came thinking about your mouth on my dick._

“Heya, Steve.” He drags out his name, goes ste-eve like that doesn’t drive Steve up against the damn wall. Like Billy’s got all the time in the world.

“What’s- what’s up?” He can totally do casual.

“Well, I’ve been working on my girl all day, and I figured I might as well come by and help you with your daddy’s Beamer?” And Billy’s laughing a little, like he knows Steve would push at him and tell him to _shut the fuck up, I payed for half of that car._

“ _Asshole_. For real, though? That’s really nice, Billy. Are you sure you don’t want me to like, pay-“

“Shut up with that, just let me use your fancy shampoo and watch a movie with me, later.” It makes Steve’s breath catch, the way Billy invites himself over like this. Like- makes it easy to act like it’s a _date_ , or something.

“Sounds. Cool.” _I’m cool._

“Yeah.”

“Uh, so-“

“See you in ten, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, yeah. See you.”

He kinda stands there, frozen, phone in hand for too long, before he realizes he’s practically naked, waiting for Billy to _be there in ten_ like he’d been planning on showing up.

He finds his jeans, pulls on a crewneck like he’s not hot all over at the thought of seeing Billy. Goes to open up his window to get the fucking _smell_ out.

He can hear the fucking Camaro from like a mile away, runs his hands through his hair like that’s gonna help. Like Billy’s gonna care.

“ _Fuck_ me.”

He makes it down to the hall, tries to mentally prepare himself for the fucking gut-punch of Billy’s cologne and his clothes and the way he’ll _look_ at Steve like- like there’s something _there_ , like Steve’s not going insane. He really tries to give off I didn’t just jerk off while thinking about you vibes. _Tries_. Feels like a walking neon sign declaring it, anyways.

Gets to the door and knows what’s coming, _feels_ it before he even hears the way Billy just _has_ to go-

“Hey there, pretty boy.”


End file.
